


I Will Not Blend With You

by K_G



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Abuse, F/F, Sexual Abuse, non con is only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_G/pseuds/K_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night after night she is called, and the line between her will and the will of her captor grows harder to make out with every hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Blend With You

The air is dank, humid. The stench of brine and the other unwashed captives burns her nostrils and every breath is held to restrain the urge to gag that chokes her far more effectively than the steel collar around her throat.

The ship tips abruptly, and the line of slaves tumbles as far as their chains will allow, two dozen gasps coming in unison as collars dig into flesh. The youngest, a mere six sweeps, and possessed of burgundy blood if the stains around his wrists were of any indication, begins to weep.   
Her arms are pinioned behind her back, shoulders stretching painfully and preventing her instinctive urge to reach and comfort. A few tears of her own fall, fluid that she can ill afford to lose given how long it has been since they were last provided with victuals. 

The waves slap against the hull in irregular bursts, and fresh water seeps through gaps in the tarred planks to soak their clothes, worn ragged by repeated abrasion against the rough flooring. The trolls at the end of the line had it worse, often catching themselves on the other, inanimate cargo. Their flesh was torn, in addition to their clothing, and the old, fetid water rolling from side to side is tinted with hues from across the spectrum. She watches as the blood trails whirl around each other, oddly soothed by the swirl of teal against bronze, the colours circling and mingling to form a new ruddy hue. A Matesprit pair nuzzle against each other in the dark, taking what comfort they can in each other.   
Above, she faintly make out the sounds of increasing revelry, the crew feasting after another successful raid. Her heart sinks, dully skipping a beat.   
Pulling back into the shadows, fingers scrabbling to find a hold against the hull, she curls in on herself. She dreads what she knows will follow, but a treacherous part of her mind whispers that she should be relieved to be summoned from this wretched pit. That she should be grateful that she is granted some reprieve, that the others would likely kill one another for the chance. 

Her head shakes, disgust curls her upper lip. She rejects that invasive thought for the poison it is. She will not go easily tonight, she swears to herself, fangs digging into her cheek. She will not be wooed by the chance to cleanse herself in the ablution block, by the touch of soft fabric against her rough skin and the tug of a brush through her matted locks. Not by gentle, perilously soft words whispered into her auricular pipes as cool hands callused by years manning the helm smooth down her waist, dip lower still until -  
She slams her head back against the hull, a rough sound escaping her as her neighbours look towards her in alarm. The tears fall faster, and she turns away from their worried stares as best as she can. Jade leaks down through her hair, and she is tempted to strike her head again and again until she slips away, but she cannot. She cannot, and she sobs into her knees because she no longer knows whether it is because she hopes for rescue or because some part of her looks forward to her torment.

When the Marquise unchains her that night, and the night after, Dolorosa follows without complaint. Night after night she is summoned, and each time her footsteps are a little lighter. The spider weaves a web through a vulnerable mind, until she is a fly that longs to be eaten. 

Only in the most secret depths of her soul does any doubt remain, but that doubt screams and continues to scream until the olive blood straddles her in the hull and chokes the life from her eyes. In that moment, the first true smile since her capture spreads across her lips, and her fingers stretch to offer thanks to her assassin for the freedom he offers.  
They fall, limp, in the pool of bloodied water, as she is finally released.

**Author's Note:**

> A fifteen minute fic reflecting on the abusive nature of the Dolorosa/Mindfang relationship.


End file.
